It's Alternate
by Pikeru's Angel
Summary: Two Sherlock's. Two John's. Two universes that just so happened to collide. It's all mix-and-match this Thursday I suppose. Warning: Mild to moderate language and pre-slash/slash.
1. Chapter 1

When Sherlock wakes up he _knows_ that there's something wrong. The air smells different and for some reason there isn't a certain doctor entwined in his arms. He knows John had the day off, too.

'He's probably making breakfast,' Sherlock thought with a fond smile. 'He's always trying to get me to eat.'

Except he couldn't smell anything coming from the kitchen. John didn't usually make cold food - something Sherlock had discovered quickly. It was always jam and toast and eggs and bacon spread across the table and once, on their anniversary, pancakes because Sherlock had asked. He could never figure out why John liked to cook so much.

Still, this was beside the point. The point was he was waking up alone in bed and his… well, John was downstairs cooking.

Slowly Sherlock got out of the bed, head still thick with fog, and slowly clambered to the kitchen. What was the point of the dressing gown anyway? It was just the two of them after all. If anyone else came up they would knock.

Sherlock smiled, contented, when he saw John fussing with the kettle. It was like something had clicked into place. He was in the flat and John was making tea and all was right with the world. Right? Right. Definitely right.

Soft smile still on his face Sherlock padded forward, snaking his arms around John's waist and resting his chin on the other man's broad shoulder. "M'rning," he muttered sleepily.

For some reason John stiffened under his touch and it suddenly occurred to Sherlock that the doctor was in his dressing gown. The one that had been put away in a drawer and not taken out since they got together. Why had he brought that ratty old thing? A small frown tugged at the corner's of Sherlock's mouth.

"You know I hate this dressing gown." He said through a yawn. Slowly, ever so slowly, John's warm calloused hands took hold of his, gently peeling the slender arms from around his hips. As soon as he turned around Sherlock knew there was something different. Off. _Wrong._

John seemed more like he had when they'd first met. The lines around his eyes weren't quite gone, he was still leaning off his "bad leg". His left shoulder was tensed up too. It hadn't been like that in so long. And overall there was just and air of… _not John_. Oh, the physical appearance was exactly the same, but the way he held himself. Like he was still in the army. It was all just _wrong_.

"You aren't John."

"You aren't Sherlock."

They blinked at each other in surprise.

"But I am John."

"But I am Sherlock."

Another semi-awkward pause.

"We should stop doing that," Sherlock suggested, feeling slightly unnerved. Now that he looked around there was a lot that seemed different. The whole layout of the flat was _wrong_ and John was _wrong_ and the Union Jack pillow on the chair instead of on the couch was all _wrong, wrong, wrong_.

Not-John cleared his throat awkwardly. "And perhaps you should put on your dressing gown." Sherlock glanced down at himself in nothing but a pair of boxers and his socks. His John would have been more than fine with that, but this one seemed more modest. Hence, his own dressing gown in their own flat.

"Err, right. Dressing gown. Right." He nodded to himself and numbly went back to his room to try and dig the old thing out.

'_What is going on?'_

{][][}

Sherlock woke up feeling surprisingly warm. That was the first thing he noticed. Another thing he noted was that there was a body pressed against his, hand gently rubbing up and down his arm. Both of these things were odd because Sherlock didn't remember going to bed with a partner the previous night and he usually kicked off the sheets at night so he was cool in the morning.

The person rubbing his arm stopped, burying their nose in Sherlock's back. The dark haired man shivered slightly as he felt the soft touch of hair brushing on his spine. "'Bout time you got up, 'Lock." That was John's voice. How could it be John's voice? That was… that was impossible. John would _never_- And more importantly John wasn't-

"Did you sleep well?"

Slowly Sherlock nodded. Maybe he was just dreaming. "Yes. Yes, did you?"

John pulled away from him, hand still resting on Sherlock's shoulder. "You feeling okay, Sherlock?" He said, going into his usual Doctor mode. "Your voice sounds off… Not catching anything, are you?"

"Not that I'm aware of, Doctor," Sherlock replied in his usual sarcastic tone. John shuffled, his hand pressing again Sherlock's forehead in a worried manner.

"Are you sure your feeling all right?"

Irritated, Sherlock turned over, fully prepared to scold the doctor on how he was fine and, honestly John, I'm acting the same as I always do.

Except the words seemed to stick in his throat, choking him. Because this man before him? It wasn't John. It couldn't be John. John's hair was shorter since he kept it in the military cut. He had barely noticeable stress lines around his eyes. His shoulder was commonly tensed, no matter how the pain was doing. And if he'd been looking over to John he shouldn't have seen love in those dark eyes. Not the sort of concern you would show to a partner.

The not-quite-John in front of him stiffened slightly, almost self consciously pulling the sheet higher from where it was barely draped over his waist. "You aren't Sherlock," he said resolutely. "You- you can't be."

'_Interesting,'_ Sherlock thought. '_Very, very interesting.'_

{][][}

**A/N: So... yeah. Done for a prompt on the lj kink meme.**

**Original prompt: _Pilot!Sherlock and Sherlock (somehow) switch places, so that Sherlock ends up in the pilot's universe and pilot!Sherlock ends up in Sherlock's._**

**Thanks for reading! Oh, and for those who still have hope for Fun and Games, don't worry! My muse may have taken a brief side trip to the Doctor Who fandom and the Master, but now I'm back here. Well, half-back here. Especially with S2 so close! ^_^ So I'll be trying to get to that asap.**

**~Piki :B**


	2. Chapter 2

It was far more awkward than necessary when Not-Sherlock came back downstairs. The man had the lightest of pinks brushing up his neck and across his cheeks and he pulled the bathrobe tighter across his skinny frame the second his eyes landed on John again. It was strange to see someone so alike yet so different to the Sherlock he'd gotten so used to in the past few months.

Not-Sherlock bit his lip, running a hand through his short auburn curls. "I don't suppose you know how this happened?" He asked in a tone most people would have called nervous. John blinked in shock. Actually, he _was_ nervous, it was written all over his body language. He had a feeling he wouldn't be able to get used to this.

"Not a clue," the older man replied. Not-Sherlock's gaze flickered downward as he collapsed dramatically into one of the kitchen chairs.

"Right," he said slowly. "Right. I was afraid you would say that. Before you ask, Dr. Watson, I don't know what's going on either."

John's brow furrowed slightly. "It's just John," he said, tone slightly sharp. Not-Sherlock winced slightly, the action hardly noticeable. John stared at the fragile, very outwardly _human_ man before him in wonder. "Although Doctor Watson is fine if it, err, makes you feel more comfortable… Sherlock."

The blush on Not-Sherlock's face deepened slightly, incredibly noticeable against his alabaster skin. John stared, outright _stared_, at the flush. He'd only seen color coming to Sherlock's cheeks after they had run around London or when he was upset. Never had he seen Sherlock blush out of something like embarrassment. It was quite possibly the strangest thing he'd ever seen having to do with the detective.

Not-Sherlock looked at him sharply. "What?" He snapped, like he would at Anderson or Dimmock or… well, you get the idea.

"Nothing," John said with a slight shrug, as though how odd his friend was acting was perfectly normal. "It's just… you're blushing."

With a roll of the eyes and a flick of the wrist Not-Sherlock responded, his face returning to its usual pallor. "As if you've never seen me blush before. Honestly, John." With a vengeance the flush had returned, this time a bright scarlet, and John just had to laugh.

"N-no I haven't," he said between breaths. "At least not under th-these circumstances." And Sherlock's blush when just slightly deeper and spread to the tips of his ears and good Lord John hadn't laughed like this in _ages_.

So of course Not-Sherlock that made John stop dead.

"It's our first kiss all over again," the detective muttered sullenly, seeming to try and will the blush off his face.

John blinked. "Our first what?"

"Kiss! Our first kiss you idiot!" Not-Sherlock's brow furrowed, a freely confused expression settling on his face. "How can you not remember our first kiss?'

Rubbing a hand over his face John sighed. "Our first- Sherlock, we've never kissed!" He said frustrated. '_And a shame that is,_' he added mentally.

For the briefest moment Not-Sherlock looked honestly panicked.

"Yes we have!" He argued, worry seeping in to his voice. "John, we've been dating for almost six months! Don't-don't you remember?" He gulped harshly, leaning against the wall as though afraid his own legs wouldn't support him for much longer. "That-that wasn't a dream, was it? God, please tell me it wasn't a dream…" He ran his hand through his hair again, glancing at John with desperate eyes.

Tentatively John took a step forward. "Six months would have been the Banker case, right?"

Not-Sherlock seemed to brighten. "Yes, yes! About a week Sarah decided to end the relationship, remember? And then you, well, you were moping a bit and I tried to help and the you, erm, started kissing me a bit…" His face fell at the distinct lack of recognition on John's face. "You don't have a clue what I'm talking about, do you?" John shook his head slowly.

"Sherlock, what's going on?" He asked, walking forward and placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

The taller man jerked back, face contorting in a cold scowl. "Maybe if you would shut up you _imbecile_ I could work that out." He said sharply, pacing up and down

the kitchen. He waved a hand over his shoulder in John's general direction. "Actually just-just leave, your face is putting me off."

'_Oh,'_ John thought, nit letting the hurt expression cross his face. '_I suppose I'm Anderson then,_' He nodded at the other man, going up to his room and changing into his clothes quickly.

It was only once John was out the door that Sherlock realized what he'd said.

{][][}

John stared at the man before him, eyes wide. His hair was a bit too long, a bit too dark, and he was fully clothed. It was the latter of the three that bothered John the most because he was sure that hadn't happened the previous night. If anything it had been quite the _opposite_…

"Clothes!" He burst out, eyes wide. "I should put on clothes shouldn't I?" Sherlock, the different Sherlock he'd woken up in bed with, gave him a withering look.

"Brilliant deduction, Doctor." he said with no small amount of distaste. "If you'll excuse me I'll be waiting in the kitchen when you're… decent." John blinked up at his, eyes full of confusion because, well, this didn't make sense. That was not even close to the man he'd gone to bed with the previous night. This wasn't the person he'd kissed and cuddled and reassured _you are so beautiful_ the previous night. This man was cold and callous and so very wrong. It was like they didn't know each other at all.

Maybe they didn't. Maybe it had all been some sort of detailed dream he'd had after a one-night-stand.

Still, he checked the drawers to find his things still there just like they had been for the past five and a half months. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a button up, putting them on with a sigh. This wouldn't be fun. Clearly the man he'd woken up to hadn't been Sherlock so there was a question which now begged asking - where was his Sherlock? Was he all right? Had Jim kidnapped him or worse? (Okay, three questions that begged answering.)

He walked down groggily, still partially asleep even after waking up to the near-stranger in his bed. Unsurprisingly Sherlock was seated at the table, fingers laced under his chin.

"I need you to tell me everything that's happened in the last eight months." He said, the demand trying to pose as a request as it fell from his lips. John sighed , eyes going heavenward as he started on a cup of tea. It would be one of those kind of days, he could feel it.

The blond sighed, thinking back. "Mike introduced us. There was the whole thing with the cabbie -Jeff Hope, I believe his name was- where I saved your goddamn life. Your brother kidnapped me for the first time pretty soon after that. Then there was the Banker case. Sarah and I broke up and pretty soon after that and then we started dating. Then there was a sort of a lull of smaller cases and me moving in to your room. Then there was the whole Moriarty… thing and it's been about two months since that." He held up a hand when the other man opened his mouth. "No more words until I have my tea, then I'll have a clear enough head to talk with the man posing as my partner, yeah?"

Slowly Sherlock nodded, eyes narrowed at the wall.

Right as John was taking the first sip of his tea there was a quiet "Oh!" from the table.

"Yes, Consulting Detective Holmes?" John questioned, still groggy and not entirely sure of what was going on.

Sherlock bolted up, grabbing his coat and scarf hurriedly while slipped on his shoes. "John, there's something I need to test. I'll bed back within the hour. In the meantime could you write up a more detailed description of the last eight months? It's vital."

It was only when he stopped being able to heard his voice did John realize Sherlock had left.


End file.
